


Someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know

by keirx



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - La La Land (2016) Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Mild Language, Really long because I can't help myself, Roy Mustang is a fool, ambiguous time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keirx/pseuds/keirx
Summary: [La La Land AU] A story where a cocky jazz musician falls in love with actress with a heart of gold. Their shared history and shared values bind them together and tear them apart.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> The point of view alternates between them where indicated. Some dialogue is from La La Land (2016) and is not original content. More notes at the end.

The sun was beating down on the mid-day traffic jam as cars lined up along the causeway. The pavement was attacked by the rays of the sun and the impatience of every driver. Roy Mustang sat in his old convertible with the top down, his eyes protected with a pair of dark sunglasses. He tries to get the outdated tape-deck to play the B-side of the cassette. With his foot on the brake, he hits the console and music begins to play loudly. He turns down the volume and begins to drum along to the melody.

In front of the old convertible, in bumper to bumper traffic, sat Riza Hawkeye who was trying to multitask unsuccessfully. She was trying to prepare for her upcoming audition.

“She was completely wrecked,” Riza said chuckling into her steering wheel, “She was _completely_ wrecked. She _was_ completely wrecked.”

She repeated the line over and over again with different emphasis. Her eyes were on the road, but her mind was on her upcoming audition. She was repeating the lines and practicing her expressions so mindlessly she didn’t realize that traffic began to move.

 _HOOOONNNNKKKK_ blared from the old car behind her. The long droning horn helped Riza regain her focus. She glanced quickly in the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of the asshole who honked so aggressively. Riza sees his dark sunglasses and long, spiky black bangs. She blinks, _it can’t be._ She puts her foot to the gas before she could look again.

* * *

**RIZA**

The audition went as well as all the others did, good but never good _enough_. Riza’s mind was all over the place going into the audition. Her head was caught up about the familiar man in her rear-view mirror, her bad day at work, and her inability to decide which emphasis conveyed the mood correctly. She drove home with the radio blasting to try and get the day out of her head.

Riza got into the shower as soon as she got home because none of her roommates were home from work yet. She relaxed deeply in the shower, the hot water bringing her back to the face in the rear-view mirror. _It couldn’t be him, not after all this time,_ she thought to herself as she rinsed off the soap.

As she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her torso, her roommate burst in. “Do you mind opening a window or something?” Rebecca demanded cheerfully as she rushed towards the bathroom mirror.

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” Riza stumbled before Rebecca cut her off.

“So how was the audition?” Rebecca asked, fixing her long curly black hair into a nice ponytail.

“It didn’t go very well,” Riza shrugged. Her other roommate, Maria, pushed past her into the bathroom in a bright yellow dress.

“Is there a party in here or something?” Maria said with a laugh, proceeding to brush her hair out of her face. “Riza, you’re coming with us, right?”

Riza pushed her way out and made a bee-line for her bedroom, trying to escape further questions about her interview. “I can’t, I have work to do.”

“What?!” said the other two girls in shocked unison.

“Did she say work?” Maria said turning to Rebecca.

Rebecca slams on Riza’s closed bedroom door, “Open up, Hawkeye.”

“What?” said Riza as she opened the door.

“I’m sorry your audition didn’t go very well, but you aren’t staying home.”

“I don’t feel like schmoozing with Central social climbers tonight. It won’t be fun,” Riza said as Rebecca starts going through her closet.

“I don’t care, you’re coming tonight. I have like four things lined up that I think you would be _perfect_ for,” Rebecca purred pulling out a dress for Riza, but shaking her head because it wasn’t right, “Come on, Riza, you just gotta keep your head up. Tonight, will be fun!”

“Yes! It will be!” chimed in Maria from the doorway, “When else do you get to see every film industry cliché in one room? C’mon!”

“Heck, you never know, Riza,” Rebecca said tossing her bright blue dress, “Someone in the crowd might be the one you need. The right person might just be where you don’t expect it!”

“Don’t get philosophical on me, Catalina,” Riza said snatching the dress from Rebecca’s hands.

“Offer stands, Riza,” said Maria as she went back to getting ready. Rebecca followed her pointing at the blue dress.

As Maria and Rebecca were about to walk out the door, Riza emerged in the blue dress, with her long blonde hair done up neatly in bun. “You look fabulous!” said the two girls in unison again. The trio walk out to Riza’s car and Rebecca dictates directions to the upper hills of Central.

The party was as unenjoyable as Riza expected it to be. She has never been good at conversing with Central’s elites despite her efforts to adapt. As soon as they arrived, Rebecca and Maria abandoned her to attach themselves to more interesting men. Riza attempted to follow in their footsteps, but she felt wholly unauthentic. After one mixed cocktail and some failed small talk, she told Rebecca she was leaving. Rebecca was too enthralled with some executive producer to pay attention to her ride leaving.

Riza walked back to where they parked to find her car gone. The sign above reading, “No parking, 9pm to 6am.” She was going to kill Rebecca for getting her car towed. This ridiculous party took place in the upper hills of Central, a long walk from their home. To top it off, the public transit system didn’t extend to the upper echelons of Central who were too far above its need. Without much choice, she decided to keep walking until she found a cab or bus to take her home.

* * *

**ROY**

Roy pulled into his apartment’s parking lot, putting on the parking brake as he parks. He put his keys into his front door only to find the door already unlocked.

“What do you think this is?” he yelled as he opens the door, fully aware of who was on the other side of the door. “Please stop sneaking into my home.”

“It’s not sneaking when you’ve got keys,” said the man sitting at Roy’s dirty kitchen table.

“What do you want, Maes?” Roy demanded, ushering him from the kitchen table, “ _please_ don’t sit on that!”

“I’m just checking up on you, I brought you a rug to spruce up this pathetic place,” Maes started unrolling the rug on the uneven wooden floor. “Why do you keep all this old jazz crap around still?”

“It’s _not_ crap, it’s hist—”

“History, yeah yeah I’ve heard that one. It’s like you have an ex-girlfriend and you’re stalking her at this point,” Maes said picking up one of Roy’s knickknacks. “Anyways, I didn’t just come-by to bring you a rug. My girl, Gracia, has a friend that she wants to introduce you to.”

“I’m not interested,” Roy said firmly. “I don’t want to meet anyone right now.”

“I don’t care, you need someone in your life!” Maes said, writing the phone number down on some scrap paper. “She’s really great and I think that you would like her.”

“Does she like music?”

“Probably,” Maes said putting the pen down.

“Jazz music?”

“Probably not,” he said slowly to let him down gently. 

“Then I’m definitely not interested,” Roy replied.

“I know I told you I’d always support your music career and I have, but you need to meet a woman, Roy!” exclaimed Maes. “You aren’t getting any younger!”

“Thanks for that,” Roy said while rubbing his temple, “Please get out.”

“Being broke is one thing but being single is just painful!” said Maes as he put the phone number down on the kitchen table.

“You’re acting like life has got me on the ropes. What if I want to be on the ropes!” Roy was ushering Maes out the door. “I’m letting life hit me until it gets tired and then I will emerge victorious.”

“Okay, buddy, whatever you say,” Maes put on his coat and opened the door.

“I will change the locks!”

“You can’t afford it. Call her, please.” Maes waved walking down the hallway towards the staircase.

Roy slammed the door as Maes disappears around the staircase. He is infuriated that his closest friend doubts his abilities and his passion just like everyone else in his life. He isn’t interested in romance or getting serious about life, he is following his destiny and he knew that he would be successful. To decompress, Roy sat down at his piano and began playing along to one of his favourite records. He uses this time to focus on his technique before going off to his next work gig.

In a dark blue suit with his hair slicked back, Roy pulled up to the try-hard fancy restaurant he landed a piano gig at. He takes a deep breath before opening the front door. He spots the manager across the floor, as the manager locked eyes he began walking quickly towards Roy.

“Ah, Mustang, you actually showed up,” said the manager. The manager handed him a stack of papers, “stick to the list tonight.”

“These people can’t tell the difference between Christmas carols and free jazz, I am just background noise to them,” Roy said taking the papers from him begrudgingly.

“No, but _I_ can and I do not like your “free jazz.” This is my place and you will play what I want you to. So stick to the list,” the manager said with an aggressive expression. He walked away towards the front desk.

Roy headed to the black grand piano in the centre of the dining room. He takes another deep breath as he pulled out the bench and arranges his music on the stand. _Just play the damn Christmas songs, Mustang. It’s not that hard,_ he scolded himself and he began to play.

Song after song, Roy’s statement that this was all background noise to the restaurant patrons was repeatedly confirmed. He could tell that they did not care because they wouldn’t applause him as each familiar Christmas carol finished. Some people tipped a few cenz as they walked past the piano to the bathroom, but no one ever stopped to compliment him or make a special request. It was not because Roy was not a good pianist, it was because this restaurant is not as fancy as it believes it is. People here come for mediocre food and the ambiance of live music, but they do not appreciate beauty.

Roy continued playing the setlist, but as the night droned on his hands detached themselves from his brain. Without conscious thought, he began playing free jazz variations as he visualized an audience that actually cared about what he was playing. He continued to jumble chords and make his mistakes into beautiful variations of his own song before he was sucked back into reality. He finished his piece as stood up, pleased with his work but dismayed at the unhappy faces of patrons and his boss from across the room. His boss’ face was red with fury and he began walking towards the piano.

“I knew you couldn’t do it. You can’t just do what you were told, Mustang!” the boss scolded quietly to avoid a scene with the restaurant crowd.

“I’m sorry, sir, I will stick to the list next time.” Roy said, sincerely hanging his head in his foolish regret.

“Too late, you’re finished, Mustang,” said his boss with a fiery hiss.

“You can’t find a better pianist for this much money!” Roy exclaimed, not caring about whether he drew attention or not.

“There’s some kid, one of the waitresses’ kids, looking for a gig. Kid will do it for half what you expect. He might actually do what he’s told.” His boss spat. “Expect your last paycheck in the mail.”

“Sir, I—” Roy stammers, trying to defend himself but failing to find the passion for this dead-end gig.

“Quit it, Mustang. You’re finished.” the boss walks off.

Roy’s face transitions from anger to fear as he fights his instinct to keep arguing. He swears under his breath and starts making his way towards the exit. His anger blurring his focus and his vision, he bumps into someone.

“I’m sorry,” he says shortly, not really looking the young woman he bumped in the face.

“I heard you playing—” she starts, her face was familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it. Frankly, he did not care in this moment and he just wanted to escape the room that was constricting his breathing and his creativity. “It was beautiful. I don’t know how to describe it, it was just magical and you—”

“Fuck off,” he spat, pushing past her towards the exit. She didn’t deserve that, but he didn’t really care. He ran out of the restaurant as fast as he could.

* * *

**RIZA**

Riza went to dozens of auditions with little luck in finding decent roles. She appeared as an extra and stand-in on a few productions but didn’t find anything with more than a couple lines. She kept up regular shifts at the coffee shop on the film studio lot, but that seemed even more like a dead end than her acting career.

Rebecca invited her to another swanky party in the upper hills of Central, but this time Riza was certain to park somewhere more secure. Riza stopped fighting her best friend against every party invitation and just let herself give in even though she never enjoyed these social gatherings. Riza Hawkeye was the furthest thing from a social climber; she was determined to make it as an actress but refused to get there by schmoozing with producers or doing something that compromised her integrity. She rejected her father’s rigidity and most of her upbringing, but she still had her own dignity to protect. She did not judge her friends, Maria and Rebecca, for using all means necessary to advance their film careers but it wasn’t for her.

This party was like all the others: rich people getting drunk by a pool as loud music blares in the background, so no one care hear what anyone is saying. This party was even more upscale because it had a live cover band playing outdated pop tunes instead of just a loud sound system. Riza left her friend to get a closer look at the band. Riza could not believe her eyes, _it was him._ Not only was it the man that she saw in her rear-view mirror on the causeway, not only was it the man she saw playing exquisite piano in a dingy restaurant, and not only was it the man who told her to _fuck off_ four months ago. No, it was the young boy who studied under her father over a decade ago. That boy grew up into _that man_. That man was wearing a bright red jumpsuit and playing electric keyboard to pop music. It was clear from the expression on his face that this song was more painful than a root canal for him.

With her realization, Riza stood in front of the small stage and made eye contact with the mysterious man she kept running into. She nodded along with the familiar old pop song and waited for them to be finished. The lead singer of the cover band asked the party goers for any requests, Riza used this as her opportunity to embarrass him. She requested a throwback song that her music purist father would have detested. She locked eyes with the keyboard player and smiled as he gathered his bearings in the song. Her request was a taunt and he gave into it.

After the music stopped, she hid away by one of the food tables. She expected him to confront her or something for the trick she played on him. “How dare you do that?”

“Do what?” Riza said innocently.

“Taunt me,” he said. “Alright, I remember you. I will admit that I was a bit curt with you a few months ago, but—”

“Curt?” she said, puzzled.

“Okay, I was an asshole. I can admit that,” he said, defeated, “but requesting a song like that from a serious musician.”

“Did you just call yourself a serious musician, Mr. Mustang?” Riza said, still teasing him but trying to sound serious.

“That’s what I am!” he exclaimed, indignant. “How do you know my name?”

“You _really_ don’t remember me?” She said, brushing her bangs out of her face more clearly.

“No,” his voice trailing off, “Oh no, you’re Master Hawkeye’s daughter.”

“Bingo,” she said, fixing her hair.

“I thought you looked familiar.” He said. Riza nodded in response. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, if you’re a _serious_ musician. I currently play a very _serious_ firefighter,” she said coyly.

“Ah, you’re an actress. Have I seen you in anything?” he said, genuinely.

“Maybe, but only if you’re looking at the background.”

“What does your father think of your chosen profession?” he said, crossing his arms, “He was always so against anything based in passion rather than reason.”

Riza nodded, again, in response. “My father passed away not long after you left us. He wanted me to continue my studies and become a lawyer or something. He never supported me doing anything that wasn’t music, which I wasn’t very good at.”

“I remember,” Roy responded, solemnly, “I’m sorry about your father.”

"Don’t be, he cared more for you than he did for me. And he didn’t even like _you_ that much, no offense.”

“None taken,” he replied.

“I tried to contact you when he died, but I couldn’t get a hold of you or your aunt. The information you left when he kicked you out must have been wrong or something...”

“I’m sorry,” apologized Roy.

“I don’t seek your pity, Roy,” Riza said coolly. “I am trying to be friendly.”

Roy nodded; he opened his mouth to say something but one of the members of his band tapped him on the back. “We’re back on in two minutes for the next set, Roy.”

The rest of the night was filled with mediocre covers of songs that Riza’s father detested and had taught Roy to detest. Riza spent the evening between conversations with men Rebecca set her up with. One was a writer, one was a producer, all bored her to death as her mind and her eyes kept drifting towards the man in the red jumpsuit on the keys. She hated herself for thinking about him so much.

Rebecca didn’t need a ride home, she decided to go home with one of the producers. Riza, tired of trying to catch another moment of Roy’s time, decides that she’s going to call it a night. The line for the valet is long. Roy, no longer dressed in a red jumpsuit, slinked behind the valet and grabs the keys to his Buick. Before he can stride off to his car parked across the street, Riza calls out to him to grab hers too.

Slightly perturbed and impatient, he sighed and yelled back, “Which ones are yours?”

“The ones with the green ribbon,” she called back, rushing up to the front.

He slipped his hand behind the valet’s back again and finds the black car keys with the bright green ribbon. “Here you go.”

“Thanks!” she exclaimed, taking her keys back.

They walked together, trying to find where the valets parked her car. Riza clicks her her car alarm button repeatedly, unable to distinguish her car among all the identical ones parked along the road. Her feet are killing her in her high heels.

“If you hold the clicker to your head, it works better,” Roy said as they rounded the corner.

“What?” she said, puzzled.

“Turns your head into an antenna, try it.”

Riza gave it a go, but still no returning beep from her car. They kept walking along the road as it comes up to the ridge. The sky was pink and purple, lightly dotted with sparkling white stars. Central looked beautiful framed by the surrounding hills. Riza never thought of this city as somewhere beautiful.

“I have to change my shoes, sorry,” she said as she spotted a bench at the top of the hill.

“Those things don’t look comfortable,” Roy said, sitting down on the bench next to her.

“They aren’t,” she said, slipping into her more comfortable flats.

Roy stood up, looking out over the city. The streetlights begin coming on as Riza finishes changing her shoes.

“This is such a romantic spot. Too bad it’s just us here,” he said, causally.

Riza was confused where this sudden change of pace came from. He had been so distant towards her in their earlier conversation, he could barely remember who she was. She didn’t blame him; it had been over a decade since they last met. She moved to Central six years ago and hadn’t been able to find him until today.

“Really?” she replied, finally.

“It’s a waste of a lovely night,” he shrugged, beginning to keep walking along their path.

“You don’t get to make the call,” she replies hastily, not taking the time to think about what she is saying.

“So, you’ll call me?” She wanted to hit him, she wanted to fight him for misconstruing her words and tangling her up.

“You’re right, although you looked cute in your suit. I feel nothing,” she teased him, keeping her tone blunt. 

“So, you agree?” he replied, unhurt.

“With what?”

“It was a waste of a lovely night.”

Before she has the chance to reply, her cellphone begins to ring in her purse. She frantically answered the phone, “Hi honey, I know. I’m sorry that I’m late. I’ll be there soon.” Her heart pounds in her chest as she hangs up the phone, scrambling to find her bearings. She pulls her keys out of her bag again, clicking the button as she places it against her chin. The car beeps nearby.

Roy walks her to the car, opening the driver side door. “Do you want a ride to your car?” she said, sympathetic to their conversation.

“No, it’s alright. I’m parked just over here.”

“Okay,” she smiles at him as she starts the car. “See you around.”

Roy nods in agreement, waving at her as she pulls away. He stares longingly as she turns the corner.

* * *

**ROY**

Roy sauntered back to his car that he left parked outside the party house. In the driver’s seat, he sank down and rested his head on the steering wheel. _You idiot_ , he beat himself up. He tried to start the car, but the engine refused to turn over. With another attempt, the old car starts to _purr,_ and he drove home. At home, he melted into his bed. He drew from his memory bank the images of her as a child, his memories at the Hawkeye house, and everything he did in between then and now. He fell asleep, holding on to her smile and the warmth that her presence brought him.

The next day, he was determined to see her again. He wasn’t sure whether this was guilt, lust, or love, but he knew that he wanted to see Riza Hawkeye again even if she would just turn him down. He replayed the conversation they had walking up the ridge together. She went to university in East City after her father passed away, she dropped out of law school halfway through to pursue her dreams of acting. She moved to Central, tried to find him—but was unsuccessful—and has been working various odd jobs since then to support her acting career. He respected her tenacity and determination, but he felt guilty for being the reason why she moved to Central.

In his state of determination, he got into his car and decided he would find her. She mentioned that she worked at the coffee shop on the film lot in the western sector of the city. He did not realize that you needed privileged access to enter the lot. Being his brash self, he tried to persuade the guards to letting him in before just walking past them. While being evasive, he finds her coffee shop.

Riza looked as radiant as ever. She turned away from the counter, helping a disgruntled customer and Roy found this as a gap to surprise her. He catches her attention by waving.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, cautious of where her boss was.

“You know, meetings and studio stuff…” he stammered. He had not thought this far ahead in his plan. It was hard enough to get on the lot. “It’s funny to run into you again.”

“How did you make it past security?” she said, sternly.

“I, uh, hauled ass past the gates,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re probably looking for me. Do you have a break or anything coming up?”

“I’m off in ten minutes!” she piped up. She looked anxiously at the customers waiting. “You can hide in the bathroom until I’m done.”

Ten minutes felt like an eternity. He waited for her patiently to walk with her along the film lot. The streets were lined with familiar movie sets from blockbuster movies and there was the occasional film shoot rolling as they passed. She recounted which set belonged to what movie, her expression was bright as she explained her passion for film history.

“I feel the same way about jazz music,” he replied, “I get coffee halfway out the city limits to be close to one of Central’s old staples.”

“Really?” she replied, smiling warmly.

“Yeah, the Armstrong! It was where all the big bands used to play, it’s full of rich history,” he was as passionate about jazz as she was for film history. “It’s a hostess bar now. Jokes on history, I guess, and me.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” she said solemnly as they kept walking along the film studio lot’s narrow streets.

“That’s just Central for you. This cosmopolitan place worships everything, but values nothing,” he said matter-of-factly, not pressing the topic any further. Though Central was his hometown, he resented the place and what it stood for.

“How did you get involved in all of this?” he asked as they kept walking past another film shoot on the street. “This isn’t where I would have imagined you ending up, from what I remember.”

“I doubt my father ever told you about my mother, but she had been a brilliant actor and singer. She had been part of a travelling theatre company before meeting my father,” Riza replied, stopping outside the fountain at the centre of the film lot. “When I was little, we used to put on plays and dress up in costumes. She would rent old movies and play them when my father wasn’t home. She passed away not long before you came. When she died, all the joy in our house died with her.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. He felt guilty and ignorant of all this. He had lived in the Hawkeye house for four years during his training. He knew that Riza’s mother had passed away—Master Hawkeye told him that much—but he didn’t know anything about Riza beyond that she was his teacher’s only daughter who cooked them dinner every night. He felt like he should have made the attempt to be her _friend_ in all those years he lived there instead of being solely focused on his music.

“Don’t be,” she sighed, “You know how my father was. He only cared about the music.”

“What I mean by my question was how did you end up _here_ after all of that? You seemed so reserved and docile when we were kids,” he said, regretting his word choices.

“I was, I guess I still am,” she said quietly. “As I told you, after my father passed, I went to university for law. I joined the theatre club and that reignited my love for acting. I also met my mother’s father, my grandfather, who was a law professor. I lived with him for a while, but his stories of my mom inspired me to pursue acting in Central.”

Roy sits on the fountain’s concrete edge, inviting her to sit next to him. “Did your grandfather approve of your decision?”

“Of course not,” she chuckled, again. “He didn’t fight me though, he fought enough about it when my mother left to join a theatre company. I don’t really keep him updated on how poorly my acting career is going though.”

"So, you’ve been in Central for years?” he asked, she nodded in reply. “And you tried to find me?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding again. “My father had the mailing address at your aunt’s, but I figured you moved. I couldn’t find your name in the phonebook or anything.”

“Ah, I know. My aunt’s various businesses aren’t in her actual name and I haven’t had a permanent place to live in a while. Again, I am sorry. I should have written to you or something.”

“Don’t apologize, Roy,” Riza said, standing up. “Let’s keep walking.”

Riza guided him through the rest of the film lots, pointing out more tidbits of Amestrian film history. The sun was beginning to set as they finished their tour. Roy was enthralled with her passion

“I have a confession to make,” Riza started, peaking Roy’s interest. “I hate jazz music.”

“What do you mean?” he exclaimed, stopping in his tracks.

“That I don’t like jazz,” she replied firmly.

“That’s such a blanket statement, you can’t just say that,” he said, shocked with how blunt she was. He had an idea, but it felt crazy, “Let me show you something.”

Roy took her to his favourite jazz spot in Central. The whole car ride he tried to appease to her why jazz wasn’t as awful as she tried to claim. Roy tried to explain to her the rich history of jazz in Amestris, but she kept playing him off. _I know her old man hated jazz, but she can be changed,_ he thought to himself. He pulled the car up to the Central Command Café, gesturing her attention to the bright neon sign. “We’re here.”

They found a table near the front and Roy ordered them a couple drinks. He continued to explain the history of jazz, trying to engage her interest in history with his passion. As they listen to the band play, he points out how each member is uniquely controlling the scene. His passion was bubbling over as he tried to entice her attention. He hoped that she would feel at least a tenth of how he felt for jazz.

“I still don’t get it,” Riza admitted solemnly, “I can’t help but think of it as elevator music or background music at a cocktail party.”

“Jazz is something magical, it’s different every time you play it,” Roy replied passionately, “People who couldn’t speak the same language would use this music to communicate. Jazz emerged out of that! Can’t you see that?”

She smiles, but her expression shows that she still doesn’t _get_ it. He leans close into her, still trying to appeal to her, “Riza, it’s dying. It’s dying here in Central and _I_ want to save it.”

“What are you going to do?” she replied, sincerely.

“I want to open my own jazz club. We can play what we want, when we want. It will be pure jazz,” he could not tell if he captured her attention or if her mind was simply elsewhere. Riza excused herself to go to the washroom, leaving Roy with his thoughts. He worried that he was boring her with his passion, something he had never felt before with anyone. Roy was used to everyone else disregarding his passion, ignoring and mocking him. However, with her, he was determined to get her to understand what this meant to him.

“Guess what?” she said as she returned the table, her expression bright and cheery.

“What?!” he said, smiling.

“I got a call back for that show I told you about!”

“That’s awesome!” he cheered, “the gunslinger show?”

“Yes,” she replied with elation, “I feel like I was a bit negative about it.”

“There’s a war movie playing at the 12th Avenue theatre which reminded me of it. It might help you for your part.”

“Really?” she said, her interest peaked.

“Yeah! Do you want to see it?” he replied, wanting to say _together._

“Sure,” she paused, “for research, of course.”

“Of course. Monday night, 10:00?” he asked.

“Sounds great!” she smiled.

The two of them went their separate ways, agreeing to meet at the theatre on Monday night. It took everything in his body to resist embracing her. _She has someone,_ he thought to himself. He couldn’t cross that barrier, she had to make that move. Roy sauntered away from the Café, soaking in the warm purple sky as the sun dipped behind the horizon. He hummed to himself as he cruised the bustling streets of Central. His mind was still on how beautiful she looked the night before in her yellow dress cast under the twilight skies.

* * *

**RIZA**

The callback audition did not go as planned. Riza put on her best performance but even that was not enough to keep the director’s attention for more than a millisecond. She drove back to her apartment, frustrated and upset. She hoped to just lounge her in bed until meeting Roy for the movie later on in the night.

Riza lazed until the sun started setting. She sat in front of the mirror, feeling like a teenager with butterflies in her stomach as she played with her hair. She couldn’t decide what to wear. _What do you wear on a date that isn’t a date,_ she thought to herself, _it’s just for research._ She was lying to herself; she had thought about Roy Mustang all day. Riza admired his passion for jazz and his desire to keep it alive; she admired his conviction and his idealism. She _wanted_ it to be a date, she’s spent years in Central trying to something or someone that inspired her half as much as Roy Mustang did in two nights.

If this were a date, she would ask Rebecca or Maria for their better fashion sense. _You have a boyfriend, Riza,_ she reminded herself, scolding herself as Rebecca would have. Her best friend set her up with James a few months ago and she didn’t want to let her down.

Suddenly, a gentle knock came on her bedroom door. “Come in!” called Riza.

“Aren’t you ready to go?” said James, opening the door. Riza was surprised by his sudden appearance. Her mind for the last few days had been completely occupied with the likes of Roy Mustang, she must have forgotten a promise that she made to him. She made eye contact with James, shaking her head in confusion.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” he said, disappointed. He rubbed her shoulders, letting go of her. “Come on, my brother just landed, we have to go pick him up.”

“I’m sorry,” she pleaded, kissing him half-heartedly. “I’ll get changed. Just wait in the car.”

He kissed her on the cheek as his phone rang. “I’ll meet you outside, be snappy.”

Riza’s heart sank to the floor as he disappeared through the doorway. She quickly put on the dress she picked out for the movie. She spruced up her make up and spritzed herself with perfume. It was just dinner with her boyfriend’s brother, so she didn’t think it would go past ten.

Dinner dragged on and on. James was a real estate agent and his brother was an investment banker. The type of men that her father would have approved for her because they had steady careers. Her grandfather would agree, he was eager to set her up with someone like James. Her relationship with James was more transactional than romantic; he bought her nice things and she looked nice on his arm at work functions. James was nice enough, but he did not ignite passion in her or inspire her—he barely even made her happy.

Riza tuned out their conversation that indirectly mocked her profession. She tried to grin and bare it as her grandfather had always instructed her to do, but she stand it. She felt horrible for standing up Roy as her watch ticked closer to 10:00. She began to pay attention to the ambient background music, _soft jazz_. She took her coat off the chair and left without saying goodbye.

Riza rushed across the city, praying that he hadn’t left yet. She finds his dark hair among the half empty theatre, slinking into the seat next to him quietly. The two exchanged a silent smile as they settled into the film.

She could barely pay attention to the film, her attention split between her heart pounding in her chest and all the things she wanted to say to him. Riza toyed with the hem of her dress, her hands brushing up against his knee between their seats. He gently took her hand as the film continued to play in the background. She leaned into him; _this feels right_. Their lips were nearly touching when the screen exploded in unfamiliar colours, the crowd booed. The lights came on and Riza straightened her posture.

“I have an idea,” said Roy, still leaning into her.

Roy drove them up to the observatory that overlooked Central. He took her hand and guided her out towards the lookout point. The sky was dark, sprinkled with sparkling stars not spoiled by Central’s light pollution. The moon smiled upon them, lighting their path.

They didn’t talk much; they didn’t have to. It felt like every lingering glance told a complete story, filling in the decade gap since the last time they met. No one would describe Riza as talkative or open with her personal life, but with Roy she wanted to spill out thought in her mind. Roy started humming gently, offering his hand to her. He took her left hand, placing his other on her waste. Riza placed her right hand on his shoulder and they began to dance to his gentle beat.

She smiled warmly as he led their waltz beneath the stars. He led their dance to a bench which overlooked a different part of the city. Roy let go of her, gesturing them to sit. In perfect synchronisation, they leaned into kiss.

* * *

**ROY**

Roy pulled his car up outside Riza’s front door, he paused for a moment before laying on the horn. The old car could still bite. He waited patiently for her, elated when she emerged smiling. He laid a kiss on her lips as she sank into his front seat.

Although Riza had been in Central for years, she had never explored the city properly. Roy took the task personally, aiming to show her all his favourite spots. He felt like he was making up time, _I should have done this six years ago when she got here._ Roy was completely enthralled with her; he had never felt this way about _anyone_ before. He refused to tell Maes Hughes about this because he would _never_ hear the end of it.

He spent every free moment they shared with her. He took her everywhere, explaining to her the city’s rich history. Roy baked in his love for jazz in their interactions by sharing every tidbit of music history he could recall. As the weeks went on, her feelings towards jazz began to soften. He played his favourite pieces on the rickety piano in his flat for her. She watched him attentively, resting her head on his shoulder. She didn’t dismiss his passion, she embraced it. She embraced him.

Roy got a spot playing piano with one of the jazz bands at the old Central Command Café. The place was packed, but his eyes were on her as she danced alone in the crowd. He added his own flare to the piece they were playing, he grooved along with the riff that the horn line were putting out. The crowd applauded as they finished, Roy hopped off the stage to embrace Riza. He spun her around, kissing her gently as their foreheads pressed together.

“I love you,” she said softly into his ear.

He had not expected it. She kissed the space between his cheek and ear, holding him tightly. “I love you too,” he replied quickly, but with upmost sincerity. He didn’t know how much he had wanted to hear those three words come from her.

* * *

**ROY**

Roy Mustang’s life was exactly where he wanted it to be. He felt inspired everyday by the beautiful blonde woman lying next to him in his bead. He felt loved and cherished by her, he could not ask for anything more. He still couldn’t find a steady gig, but he didn’t care as long as he had his music and her. He would keep working to fulfil his dream.

Riza acted out the entire play she wrote from the comfort of his bedroom. She was lazily half dressed in one of his button-ups, her hair still messy. He hung on every word, he paid attention to the passion that she put into her piece.

"It’s brilliant, Riza,” he said, standing to kiss her. 

“Really?” Riza said, “it feels a bit too raw. Are people going to like it?”

“Fuck ‘em if they don’t,” he replied, kissing her again. “I mean it.”

She chuckled, crawling back on to the bed. “I have something to show you.” She pulled out a sign reading _Roy’s._ “For your club, someday.”

“Why _“Roy’s”_?” he said, smiling.

“Because I think that’s what you should call it,” she held it up, “It’s better than _“Mustang’s”_ or whatever else you were thinking of.”

Roy scoffed, knowing that she was probably right. She was so much better at this stuff than he was. He cuddled up to her on the bed, she rested her head on his chest. “Are you going to call that guy from the club who offered you the gig? What’s his name again?”

“His name is Jean Havoc,” he said, sinking into the pillows. “I don’t want to call him. We have history. It’s not going to be a good time.”

“Just call him,” she closed her eyes, snuggling deeper into him.

* * *

Roy took the card that Havoc gave him at the club out of his jacket pocket. He twirled it in his fingers a few times before picking up the phone. They arranged a time and place to meet the rest of his band and to give it a trial.

“Hey, Roy,” a smiling Jean opened the door to the studio, he lent out one hand for a handshake. “Glad to see you, man.”

“Good to see you too,” Roy said, lying through his teeth.

“So, here’s the deal,” Jean popped a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it as he turned towards the rest of the band. “We have a record distribution, we’ll be going on tour around the country, and we can pay you 10,000 cenz a week plus a cut of tickets and merch.”

Roy nodded along as Jean explained the deal to him. _10,000 cenz_ , he thought, _that’s tempting._ He felt ashamed for even being tempted by this offer, but he needed the money to fulfil his dream of opening a club. He also felt like he needed something stable to show Riza that he wasn’t a complete loser. He agreed to the trial with the band.

The band played well together, each member was picking up on what was being played and they melded accordingly. _This could work,_ Roy prematurely thought to himself before the electronic beats started playing from the speakers. Jean changed his playstyle and went along with the beat. _This isn’t jazz,_ he amended.

Jean sat next to Roy, “You can’t save what is dying by forcing it to stay the same.” He lit another cigarette, offering one to Roy—who politely declined. “If you’re going to save jazz, you need appeal to the younger generation. You need to be revolutionary.”

Roy was listening, his mind protested but Jean wasn’t wrong. He wanted to do everything in his power to save it. As passionate as he was for _pure_ jazz, perhaps Maes was right: it is time to grow up. He accepted Jean’s offer and he officially joined the band.

* * *

**RIZA**

Roy inspired her in every possible way. He made her heart fell full and he set her creativity on fire. She spilled her soul into her one-woman play and although he was the only one to see it so far, he encouraged her to follow her dreams. His passion inspired her passion, his passion became her passion. A few months ago, she couldn’t have cared less about jazz but now all she could see for herself was running _Roy’s_ along side him.

“I’m resigning,” she said firmly to her boss, handing her the dusty green apron. Riza turned around, smiling. It felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders, she was embarking on a new journey. She had began selling everything she could to pay for the deposit on the theatre.

“I’m doing fine, grandpa,” she said, rolling her eyes as she paced across the living room floor.

“Have you found an acting job? How’s that James fellow you’re with?” her grandfather pestered her over the phone. She had been avoiding his phone calls for weeks, but felt it was time to tell him. She knew that he would find out eventually, probably from Rebecca.

“I’ve had gigs here and there, but I’m starting my own show soon. I’ll invite you when I nail down the day,” she replied, trying to avoid the latter question.

“Your own show?” he sounded simultaneously surprised and annoyed. “Who wrote it? Whose putting it on?”

“ _I_ wrote it, grandpa,” she sighed, “It’s a one-woman-show. Written, directed, and produced by me.”

“Ah, very well,” he was disappointed in her, she could tell. “So, what does James think about all this?”

“I’m not seeing him anymore,” she started looking for an out to this conversation.

“Since when?” he grilled her.

“Ages ago, sorry for not bringing it up sooner,” her apology was insincere. She did not care about her grandfather’s opinion.

“You’re seeing someone else aren’t you, Riza,” he said firmly, it wasn’t so much a question rather a statement. 

She took a deep breath, “Yes, I am.”

“That disappoints me,” he was being blunt, “What’s this fellow do?”

“He’s a musician,” she knew what was coming next. “I don’t need your judgement, grandpa.”

“Very well,” he said, his tone was enough to explain how he felt.

“He’s going to open his own jazz club in Central,” she was afraid that she had already said too much.

“Does he come from money?” he asked, quizzically.

“No, but he’s saving up,” she was trying to sound confident. “He is in a band, they’re going on tour. He’s not like papa.”

“If he’s anything like your father,” he paused, “there will be hell to pay.”

She knew his warning was not empty. Her grandfather resented her father almost more than she did. While he neglected her, he had stolen her grandfather’s only child away from him. Her mother cut off ties to her family because of her father’s influence. They didn’t even know she passed away until Riza serendipitously met her grandfather at East City University.

“I’m sorry, that was harsh,” he softened when she didn’t reply. “Just be careful, dear. Just know you can always call me. If you need money, somewhere to go, or just an ear to listen to.”

“Thank you, grandpa,” she breathed out deeply. “I won’t go so long in between calls. I have to go now. I love you. Bye.”

* * *

**RIZA**

Time continued to fly by while Roy was on the road and Riza worked on her play. For someone used to sleeping alone, she missed the warm of his presence in her bed. She missed his input on her work. She missed everything about him.

When he first left, he promised to call her every night even if it was late. She worried too much about him to sleep properly without at least hearing his exhausted voice. When he was close enough to spend a night in Central, he would always slip into their bed. He embraced her sleepy body, breathing in her hair. However, as the tour continued, the days in between visits grew. Roy stopped calling her every night; _he’s probably exhausted,_ she forgave him. The nightly calls became weekly and then they became scarce. Riza continued to forgive him when he stopped calling. Their phone calls were always short anyways, there was little to update each other on in their daily lives, but part of her still missed his voice.

From the walk from the car to the door, she dialled his number again. The phone rang three times before going to voicemail, “Hey, it’s Riza. Just calling to say hi, haven’t heard from you in a few days. I don’t remember where you are right now, please call me when you get the chance. I love you, bye.”

Riza hung up the phone, pulling her keys out of her purse. As she climbed the stairs, rounding the corner towards their front door she heard soft jazz music playing from the other side. She knew she should be excited, her heart should be pounding in her chest, but instead it sat in pit in her stomach. She breathed deeply as she gripped the door handle. Music was playing from the record player in the living room and the smell of food wafted from the kitchen. Roy rounded the corner, unaware that she had entered.

He was startled when he saw her, “Oh! You’re back!” He glanced at his watch, “I thought you’d be later! Surprise!”

Riza chucked and smiled. She was pleased to see him, running to embrace him. She nestled her face into his neck, and he lifted her off her feet. “I have to leave in the morning, but I had to see you.”

Roy kissed her, lingering until she pulled away. “I missed you so much,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers.

He let go of her, offering her a glass of red wine. “Dinner is just about ready, have a seat. Tell me about your day.”

Riza explained her day, sparing him the painful details. She spent the day with Rebecca, trying to figure out more things for her one woman show. She spent the halfway between excited and anxious, but she didn’t tell him that.

“I’m excited for your show,” he said, sitting down with their food.

“I’m not,” she admitted. She took a long sip of the wine, letting it sit still in her mouth.

“Why not?” he asked.

“What if people don’t show up? What if they _do_ show up?”

Roy chucked, “I say “fuck ‘em.” Do you care about what they think?”

“I’m nervous to do the whole thing. I’m nervous to get on that stage. I don’t know,” she explained exhaustedly. “When do you leave tomorrow?” Riza was attempting to change the subject.

“6:45,” he replied, taking a sip of his water. “I’m going up to Liore. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“To Liore!” she held her glass out to cheers. She wished he would just stay. She wished he would just be there to help her prepare for her show.

“Come with me,” he leaned across the table, placing his hands on hers.

“To Liore?”

“Yes,” he looked her with his dark eyes. “I heard it’s quite nice after they rebuilt it.”

"I can’t,” she replied firmly. “I wish I could, but I have to rehearse for the show. It’s coming up so soon.”

“But it’s just you, can’t you just rehearse anywhere?” he said, completely serious. She couldn’t believe that he said that.

“You mean, anywhere _you_ are?”

“I guess,” she saw the emotions drain from his face.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. All my stuff is here, the show is in two weeks. It’s too tight,” she said, exhausted. She should not have to explain this to him. He should have understood this from the beginning.

"It’s okay, we’ll just have to try and see each other. I miss you,” he replied, continuing to eat slowly.

“I know, but when are you done? What happens after?”

“What do you mean? We finish soon, but then we’re going to record another record and go another tour. You know that’s how it works, right?” he looked at her as if he was speaking another language. She knew all this, but she didn’t expect this coming from him.

“So, the band is a long term thing?” she asked. She felt like it was a stupid question the moment it came out of her mouth,

“What do you mean?” he repeated, still confused.

“That you’re going to stay in this band for a long time.”

“Well, what did you think I was going to?” he cut her off as she tried to finish her thoughts. “You didn’t think this was going to be successful.”

“That’s not it. I just didn’t think you would want to stick with this like this. If you’re going to be on tour for months, maybe years. Do you even like the music you’re playing?” she finally said what she wanted to say all along.

“Does it matter?” he said, he sounded defeated by this conversation.

“It matters if you’re going to give up your dreams to be in this band for _years_ ,” she wanted to hold him to his standard, to his values, to his passion.

“Do you like the music I’m playing?” he asked earnestly.

“I do,” she nodded.

“Then what does it matter?”

“You always complained about it. You said Jean was the worst to work with. You like Breda and Falman, but I didn’t expect you to give up your dreams to play with them.”

"Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Reminding you of your passion? Reminding you of the path you set yourself on?” she was beginning to get angry.

“I thought this is what you wanted. I thought you wanted me to have a solid gig, to provide and be stable for you,” he shook his head.

“What do you mean I wanted you to do this?” she was surprised and confused; she didn’t know what he was saying.

“I thought you wanted me to have a job, be in a band. Do something with my life.”

“Of course, but I wanted you to do it so you could take care of _yourself_ and start your club.”

“That’s what I’m doing, I don’t know why we are fighting,” his temper was rising with hers too. He was exasperated and she was getting annoyed.

“Why aren’t you starting your club?” she threw her words at him. She felt like she was punching low, but he paid no attention to how she felt in all this.

“You said yourself no one wants to go to it,” he yelled at her, “You don’t even like jazz. No one likes jazz. It’s all a waste of time.”

“I do like jazz, _because of you_ ,” she said, struggled to remain calm.

He ignored what she said, “I thought this all what you wanted me to do. What do you want, Riza? For me to go back to lousy piano gigs in restaurants?”

“No, that’s not—” she stammered. “Why don’t you start your club?”

“That no one wants to go to?” he cut her off.

“The club,” she raised her voice to be heard, “that people will want to go to because you’re passionate about this. People care about what other people are passionate about, that’s what you always told me. You have the power to remind people of what they forget,” she pleaded with him. Riza was trying to appeal to the part of him that she fell in love with.

“Well, it’s too late now. It’s time to grow up now, right? I wish you voiced this concerns before I started all this,” he yelled again, refusing to make eye contact with her.

“You had a dream, a vision for jazz music. You set out on a path, I promised to help you fulfill that dream. I’m reminding you of the conviction you used to have, like I told you I would,” her tone was serious. She tried to make eye contact, but he wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

“This is the dream. Guys like me work their whole lives to have something half as good as this. To have their music heard and liked,” he exclaimed.

“Since when do you care about being liked, Roy?” she cut him off, her tone harsher than before. She was blunt, she couldn’t sugar coat her words anymore.

“You’re an actress, what are _you_ talking about?” he hit her where it hurt, they both paused. He still refused to make eye contact with her. “Maybe you just liked me when I was on my ass because it made you feel better about yourself.”

She held back her tears until he finally made eye contact with her, she looked away. Riza didn’t know how to respond, she tried to find the words, but none could soothe her. Her dignity was saved by the fire alarm going off; the rest of the food he had in the oven had begun smoking. She took the opportunity to grab her bag and leave.

* * *

**ROY**

_You’re such a jackass, Roy Mustang,_ Roy thought to himself as he slammed his fist into the counter. Her car was already gone by the time he managed to clear out the oven. He regretted yelling at her, he regretted saying she only liked him when he was down. In his heart, he knew it wasn’t true when he said it, but the words had already come out.

He cleaned up the kitchen, not wanting to leave a mess if she did decide to come back. He figured that she went to sleep at her friend’s place and that she would come back tomorrow after he left. Roy knew he should probably call Havoc and say he can’t make tomorrow’s show, but at the same time he didn’t think there was any reason for her to forgive him. _You never know what you want until you fuck it up,_ he continued to scold himself. He drank the rest of the wine. He deserved to be sad, angry, and painfully drunk for hurting her. 

Roy sank into the bed, everything smelled like her. He let his emotions come over him as he cuddled the pillow she uses. He had planned this night for the past several days. He wanted to make up for every missed night, perhaps that was his first mistake. He felt guilty for not calling her but as the intervals grew so did his guilt. Roy dialled her number every night but always stopped himself before calling because he could not rationally explain why he didn’t call the night before. He knew that he was a fool for letting it get so bad. He lulled himself to sleep, comforted only by the lingering smell of her on his bedsheets.

* * *

**RIZA**

Riza drove back to the house she shared with Rebecca and Maria. She rang the door bell until a freshly showered Rebecca opened the door. Riza didn’t have to say anything for her best friend to know exactly what happened. The two of them sat on the sofa all night, Riza spilled her feelings out. She told Rebecca the whole story from Roy’s training with her father to their repeated run ins to their romance to this.

“I’m going to kill him,” Rebecca said, seriously and calmly as she brushed Riza’s hair. Riza laughed, she felt better even if she still felt horrible. “You think I’m joking.”

“No, I know you’re not. That’s why I laughed.”

“Good,” Rebecca smiled in response.

Riza went back to the apartment the next morning. She turned the doorknob, half hoping that he would still be there. The apartment was empty, but it was clean. Roy had cleaned up the kitchen and the remains of their romantic dinner. _Did it even happen?_ she thought to herself. She laid down on the bed, defeated.

In his absence, Riza dove headfirst into working on her show. She stayed at Rebecca’s most nights to quell her anxiety about him walking through the door and to avoid being alone. Rebecca helped her finish the props and finalize the stage design. She emailed every contact she had in Central. She posted flyers around town, spreading the word the best she could. The date was creeping up to her.

Riza had two missed calls from Roy, but he never left a voicemail message. She needed space. She finally worked up the courage to call him, she took out her phone and dialled his number. His voicemail answered, again.

“Hey Roy, it’s me. I don’t know where you are right now. I just called to check in. My show is next Thursday, I hope you can make it. Call me if you have the chance,” she tried to be concise and neutral. She wanted to spill her guts, tell him how she felt. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry for what she said, for what he said, she was sorry for it all. She clicked the end button, letting out a deep sigh.

* * *

**RIZA**

The next week passed by quickly, she spent every night in the theatre rehearsing. She had everything perfected. Rebecca and Maria watched nearly every rehearsal; they could probably put the show on themselves at that point.

It was the day. Riza wasn’t religious, but it felt like judgement day. She was laying out her most personal self out on stage and even if it was only her two friends in the crowd, she was exposing her raw self. She thought about one thing Roy said in their last conversation:

_“What if people don’t show up? What if they do show up?”_

_Roy chucked, “I say “fuck ‘em.” Do you care about what they think?”_

He was right. “Fuck ‘em,” she said, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. She kept eye contact with herself, _I hope he shows up._ She blinked, going back to doing her makeup.

Rebecca and Maria both hugged her backstage before she was set to begin. Riza thanked them for their support before ushering them back to their seats. She peaked at the crowd, there were maybe twelve people in attendance. She couldn’t tell whether she should be disappointed or relieved. However, there wasn’t a Roy Mustang in sight.

Riza tucked part of her bangs behind her ear. She breathed out all the air in her chest. She held her chest empty for four counts, then inhaling through her nose. She held her breath again, opening up her senses and lowering her heart rate. She repeated this process two more times. _I’m ready,_ she thought.

Everything went according to plan, she was flawless. Every word, every emotion, every action fell into place. She stood with her hands on the lamp, she looked out at the crowd and turned the switch. The room fell dark before the feeble applause began. The theatre lights came on and she bowed. Rebecca and Maria cheered from the second row, almost too enthusiastically. She smiled brightly, bowing and thanking them all for coming.

Riza went back to her dressing room. She was relieved that it was over, but she was disappointed that Roy didn’t show up. She hung her head between her knees as she tried to regain the energy to pack up. She could hear the stagehands outside the door gossiping about the show. They went on about how it wasn’t very good and how they weren’t surprised no one showed up.

Rebecca and Maria offered to wait for Riza, but she told them to go ahead without her. They wanted to talk her out for drinks to celebrate the show, but she didn’t have the energy to socialize with anyone. She was physically and emotionally exhausted from the show. Riza just wanted to curl into bed and wake up to the next day.

Riza heard pounding on the door and muffled shouting, but figured it was just some rowdy person passing by. She picked up the last of her things and exited to go to the door.

“Riza! I’m so sorry,” called a voice she would have liked to hear any other night than tonight. She looked at Roy with shock and disappointment, pushing forward towards her car. “Please, just tell me how it went.”

“Don’t, Roy,” she said, avoiding eye contact as she threw her things in the back of her car.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a jackass,” he pleaded with her, “I’ve been a fool. I’ve hurt you, again”

“You’re sorry? _You’re sorry_?” she ignored what he said after that. Riza fought her tears, she wouldn’t cry over him again like this. “I am going home.”

“I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he tried to get close to her and she backed away.

“No, I’m going _home_. I’m leaving this god forsaken place,” she spat, “I’m done.”

“This is _home,_ ” he pleaded once again. 

“Not for me anymore,” she took a long look at his dark eyes. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, but there was no turning back. Riza opened the door and got in. She turned on her car, praying he wouldn’t jump in front of it.

Roy knocked on the passenger side window, “Please. Just let me make it up to you!” 

She ignored him and began to drive. She heard him call her name as she drove away, but she didn’t look back in the mirror.


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The point of view alternates between them where indicated. Some dialogue is from La La Land (2016) and is not original content.

**RIZA**

The drive from Central to East City saw skyscrapers and suburban homes melt into rolling country hills before the dreary industrial city came into view. Riza’s grandfather lived in one of the nicer neighbourhoods that surrounded the city. She drove through the winding roads and polished cul-de-sacs until she found the place that she used to call home.

Riza rang the doorbell despite still having keys, she thought it better not to surprise him by walking in unannounced. “Hello, coming!” called a squeaky old man from a distance.

“Oh my, Riza!” he beamed as he opened the door, “I didn’t expect you without a call first!” He pulled her into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think to call until I was already halfway here, and I thought it should just be a surprise at that point,” she apologized. She squeezed him, relieved to see him but dreading the incoming conversation about her reason for visiting.

“Please come in, dear,” he picked up her bags and brought them inside.

The house was the same as the last time she visited for the holidays. Her bedroom was still the way she left it when she dropped out of university. Her grandfather didn’t start off with the rapid-fire of questions, he let her settle. Riza sank into her old bed, both sad and relieved to be back in this house.

Riza didn’t know she had living family until she enrolled at East City University. Professor Grumman was her first-year criminal law teacher at the time. It wasn’t until she went to his office hours ahead of the midterm exam that she learned he was her maternal grandfather. He said she was the spitting image of her mother and he had been hoping she would come into his office. He offered her a place to live and some of his tuition grants to help pay for her tuition. Riza only accepted the offer of housing, she was too determined to pay for her education on her own.

Riza slinked down the stairs, her grandfather was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. “Would you like some tea, dear?”

She nodded in response, taking a seat across from him as he turned on the kettle. “How did your show go? Sorry I couldn’t make it, again.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed, “Not many people came. It went off without a hitch, I performed as well as I have in every rehearsal, but it still wasn’t enough for anyone to like it.” The comments of the stagehands gossiping in the hallway echoed in the back of her mind. She smiled through it, gritting her teeth.

“I’m sorry it went poorly,” he placed a couple tea mugs on the table with a small serving of milk and sugar. The kettle whistled gently as the water came to a boil. “Since you told me about your show,” he admitted, “I have thought about your mother a lot. She would be proud of you for going to the effort to put on your own show. It’s something she always dreamed of doing herself.”

“Really?” Riza looked puzzled. “She never mentioned it.”

The old man chuckled, lumping two sugars into his cup of tea. “She always dreamed of the shows she would put on. She wrote scenes for plays in her school notebooks. Her head was in the clouds when she was supposed to be studying. You get some of that from her.”

Riza nodded. She normally felt sad when her grandfather would talk about her mother. Her mother passed away when she was eight and her memories grew fainter with every passing year. “Well, she would be disappointed in me for giving up.”

Grumman raised his eyebrows in response. “I decided I’m done with Central, done with acting. I’m tired of having my heart torn out of my chest with every audition. I want to keep what is left of my dignity and self esteem,” Riza continued solemnly. “I don’t have her determination.”

“She gave up too, you know,” Grumman interrupted. “When she married your father, she gave up her career for his. She had dreams of writing her own shows, running her own theatre company. I didn’t _love_ her career choices, but I wish she had done that instead of giving it up for your father, no offense.”

“None taken,” Riza replied. She paused, stirring her tea mindlessly. “I still think she would be disappointed in me for giving up.”

“But you tried. Even if you failed, it’s better than to have never done it in the first place,” Grumman said, nodding towards her. “You’re young still, you will figure out what you want to do with your life.”

“Thank you, grandpa,” she smiled.

“So, are you going to tell me the other part?” he said, confidently. “I won’t prod, you can tell me when you’re ready.”

Riza looked at him in surprise. The old fox was as calculated as ever. He was always at least two steps ahead in every conversation and then he would lead you into a trap. This is why he was such a good lawyer. He knew the other parts that were on her mind even if she never mentioned them.

“You won’t prod, but you won’t rest until I tell you,” she sighed.

He chucked, “well, of course not. I can tell you are not just upset about the failure of your show.”

“You’re not wrong,” she sipped her tea, avoiding eye contact.

“So, what happened with that young man?” she could tell that he was trying not to be condescending. He looked at her for a response.

Riza took a deep breath, “It’s a long story. In short, he chose the band he didn’t like over his dreams. He chose it over me.” She tried to not sound too hurt. She tried to bury what she felt inside, but she knew that he could still read her.

“Ah, I see,” he nodded. She could tell his mind was somewhere else already. “Don’t let a musician get you down.”

She knew what he was implying, _don’t fall in love with someone like your father_. Riza didn’t have the energy to explain the ways in which Roy was so far away from her father. He didn’t know the connection between the two and he didn’t need to.

“Is it okay if I stay here until I figure things out?” Riza asked politely.

“You don’t need to ask that, you know that. This is my home as much as it is yours,” he placed his hand on hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

* * *

**ROY**

Roy stopped answering his phone when Havoc or Hughes called. He spent several nights after Riza’s show feeling sorry for himself in a bottle of whiskey. He dialled her number when he was at his lowest, but he could never bring himself to call. He knew that she didn’t want to hear from him. _You fucked it up, Mustang,_ he kept telling himself over and over again until the voice in his head couldn’t speak anymore.

After a week, Maes Hughes finally beat down Roy’s door. “You look like a wreck, man.”

Roy looked like a shell of his normal self, “Leave me alone, Maes.”

“Sorry, no can do, buddy,” Maes plopped himself down on the couch and kicked his feet up. “You haven’t told me what’s going on. What’s _really_ been going on! You started dating this amazing girl, as you described! Then you joined a real band and went on tour. And then suddenly, you stopped answering my calls. You dropped off the face of the planet! I left you a thousand voicemail messages and you never replied.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Roy refused to make eye contact.

“So, stop apologizing and tell me the goddam story,” Maes was being serious.

Roy felt like he had been hit by a bus. He told Maes the story from his training with Riza’s father, to their repeated run ins, to their romance, to their fights, to the band, and to how he fucked it all up.

“You really are a jackass, Roy,” Maes said in disbelief of the story, “If I did half of that to Gracia, I could never live with myself.”

“Thanks,” Roy said sarcastically, “I really needed the reminder.”

“Give her a couple days,” Maes said earnestly.

“She went home to East City,” Roy sighed, “It’s over.”

“You should go and get her back, Roy. I mean it, give her some space but then go get her back. The two of you have a long history and it sounds like you really love her. You sound like soulmates.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Maes,” Roy got up to get himself some water. He was tired of living to Maes go on about love and romance.

“Fine, don’t listen to me,” Maes put his hands in defeat, “I didn’t come for your pity party, Roy. I came to invite you to my wedding and ask you to be my best man!”

Roy spat out his water. “When did you and Gracia get engaged?”

“You’d know if you ever picked up the goddamn phone,” Maes said calmly.

Roy rolled his eyes, “I get it. _I’m a jackass!_ ”

“You are, but you’re my jackass and I need you at my wedding.”

“When’s the big day?”

“In two weeks,” Maes admitted. “It’s a bit short notice, because… Well, Gracia is pregnant.”

“God, I missed so much,” Roy rubbed his palm against his forehead. _You self absorbed jackass who lets down his friends on his own path of success,_ he scolded himself silently.

“Yes, but you’re here now,” Maes was kinder than Roy deserved. “Gracia found out that she was pregnant a couple months ago. We thought about all our options but getting married was the only one that made sense,” he explained enthusiastically. “We decided to get married before she starts really showing. I’ve always wanted to be a dad so I’m looking forward to meeting the little guy.” 

Roy smiled; he was happy that his best friend was getting his dreams even if he had squandered his own. “I’m happy for you. Let me know what you need, and I’ll be there. I promise, I won’t let you down, Maes.”

Over the next two weeks, Roy spent every free moment in between his rehearsals and recordings with the band to help Maes prepare for the wedding. The Hughes wedding was a small gathering of only forty guests at Gracia’s parents house just outside of Central. Roy and Maes did most of the preparations while Gracia was busy with work.

Roy played the piano for the whole wedding. Maes gave him permission to play whatever he wanted, but he had a specific song he had to play for their first dance. He shied away from playing too much jazz even though he had the permission. Gracia was glowing, she lit up the entire room. Watching his best friend with the love of his life was remarkably bittersweet. He wished Riza was there with him, he wished he could dance with her again. He wished he had her guidance on the wedding planning; she would have made the decorations more cohesively themed and probably kept them within the budget.

After the wedding, Roy was exhausted. He drank a little too much and didn’t eat enough. When he got home, he flopped down on his bed still in his tuxedo. He fell into a dreamless sleep on top of his sheets.

Roy woke up suddenly the next morning when his phone began to buzz from inside his jacket pocket. “Mustang speaking,” Roy answered, his tone stern.

“Hi, I’m looking for a Miss Riza Hawkeye, is she there?” a woman on the other end asked.

“Sorry, wrong number,” Roy was about to hang up.

“She isn’t answering her calls, I was told I could probably find her at this number. My name is Manon Shepherd, I’m a casting director. Could you please give her a message when you see her?” the woman spoke hurriedly, she knew he didn’t have much patience.

Roy’s heart began to pound in his chest. Part of him said to tell her to _fuck off_ and the other part of him told him that this was how he makes things right with Riza. “Yeah, go ahead,” he sighed. The woman on the phone explained the casting call and film premise to him. _This was perfect for her_ , he thought. He felt awake again for the first time in months.

Roy spent the day retracing every conversation they had in to find out where she would have gone. He knew her grandfather was some hot-shot law professor and he lived in some haughty neighbourhood near the university. He packed a few things into his car and set a direct course for East City. He had spent the last several months touring all of Amestris, but he spent most of the daytime sleeping in the tour bus. This was the first time since his childhood that he took in the rolling hills of the countryside as he approached East City.

It was nearly dinner time by the time that he found the right house. He had to ask several different people for directions, but he was pretty certain that this was it: Riza’s car was parked in the drive way. Roy pulled up outside and pressed down hard on his car horn. People from various surrounding houses came out to identify the noise, but it wasn’t until Riza emerged that he stopped honking.

“What are you doing here, Roy?” she demanded. Her expression wasn’t as harsh as the last time he saw her, but she didn’t look happy to see him.

“I bring good news,” he was smiling, trying to lighten her up. She nodded, waiting for him to continue. “I got a call yesterday from Manon Shepherd, she’s a casting director. She went to your show and she loved it. She’s been trying to get a hold of you, but you haven’t been picking up. She wants you to come in tomorrow to audition for this big movie.”

Riza shook her head, “No, I said I was done. I meant what I said.”

“What?!” he yells, he’s frustrated that she isn’t excited. This was what she worked so hard for. “What?!” he repeats, louder.

“Shh,” she pleads, “please! Be quiet. Someone might call the police.”

“I’ll be quiet if you make some sense to why you won’t do this,” he demanded.

“I’ve been to a million auditions and it’s the same thing over and over again. I can’t keep doing it, Roy,” she sounded defeated. She was fighting back tears. He wanted to console her, but he knew she would probably kill him if he came any closer.

“I’m not good enough,” her amber eyes were big and welled with tears. “I’ve accepted my fate.”

“You are good enough, Riza,” he tried to reason with her.

“I’m done. I have spent six years trying. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He shook his head. “Soldier on, Riza. You’re stronger than this. I’ll be here at 8:00 tomorrow, whether you will be is to be determined.” He opened the door to the car. He started the car and pulled away. “See you tomorrow.”

* * *

**RIZA  
**

Riza went back inside after he drove away. Her grandfather was still sitting at the dining table and he demanded an explanation for the honking. She told him the whole story, holding back her tears.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he hugged her, rubbing her back in reassurance. “You can move on. He’s only going to lead you down a path where you get hurt.”

She didn’t want to listen to what he was saying. He didn’t _know_ Roy like she did. He never supported her acting and wished she would just go back to school. Riza pressed her face into his shoulder, holding back her tears. She spent the rest of the evening weighing her options. She went back and forth on whether to go or to stay.

Riza woke up early, she packed her bag and made some coffee for the road. She didn’t make her decision until she woke up. _It’s better to try and fail then to not try at all,_ she reminded herself of something Rebecca told her when she made the decision to move to Central. Riza had many regrets of her choices, but she had to live with them. The passion she saw in Roy’s eyes for her audition inspired her to keep moving forward, to follow him back to Central.

She hugged her grandfather goodbye, again. She promised that she would let him know how it went afterwards. He reminded her again that she could always come home. Roy was outside at 8:00am sharp, on-time for something for the first time since she met him.

“Good morning,” he said brightly as she opened the car door.

They didn’t talk too much on the journey back to Central. Roy’s collection of cassette tapes and his occasional comments were the only things that dotted the long drive. They stopped to get some food before going to the audition.

“You can wait in the car,” Riza said to Roy as she motioned to get out of the car, “Thank you for driving.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he unbuckled his seatbelt, getting out of the car too. “I want to come in with you.”

She didn’t protest. The casting agency was in a building she had visited a few times before for other auditions. Riza checked in with the receptionist who directed them to sit and wait. It felt like an eternity before someone called her name.

“Riza Hawkeye,” a young woman called from the doorway, “We’re glad we found you!”

Riza smiled awkwardly in response. She had never been to an audition where she hadn’t prepared something to read. She kept her expectations low. Riza shook hands with the casting director and the producer.

“So, the premise of the film will be based around the lead actress. We don’t have a script yet, we will build it around whoever we choose. What we do know is that the film will shoot in Aerugo for six months,” explained the casting director, Manon Shepherd. She had a kind appearance.

“Okay,” Riza said in disbelief.

“We thought you could tell us a story here today,” said the man sitting next to Manon.

“About?”

“Anything,” the two said in unison, both smiling.

Riza took a deep breath, she searched her mind for the best story to tell. She told one of the fantastical stories that her mother would tell her about her adventures with the travelling theatre. She captivated the casting director and the producer completely. She enriched the story with imagery and details.

Manon and her colleague looked at her in awe as she concluded her story. They told her that they would let her know in a couple days. Riza tempered her expectations against even if she felt like it went well.

Roy enthusiastically waited for her outside the door. He bombarded her with questions as they went back to the car.

“When will you hear back?” he asked as they got into the elevator going down.

“They said a couple days,” she sighed. “They said they would call regardless of the result.”

“That’s good,” he was completely elated. “Come on, I have somewhere I want to take you.”

They got back into Roy’s car and he drove them up the Central hills back to the observatory. They sat on the bench where they first kissed months ago.

“Where are we, Roy?” she asked softly.

Roy looked out at the city from the lookout, “We’re at the observatory, don’t you remember this place?”

She rolled her eyes, “you know what I mean. Where are _we_?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. He continued looking out at the view, avoiding eye contact with her.

“What do we do?” she asked. She was emotionally exhausted by the day.

“We go forward,” he turned to look at her. He brushed her bangs aside, resting his palm on her cheek. “I have been such a fool. I hurt you once, but then I hurt you again. I let myself get caught up in something that didn’t spark passion in me. I missed your show, your passion project. I lost sight of my goals, _our goals_.”

She did not speak, and she did not break eye contact. Her expression said, _Yes, you’re a jackass, Roy Mustang, but I love you still._

He caressed her face again, “Then, I almost missed my best friend’s wedding. I was a sell-out, something I used to despise. I understand if you can’t forgive me for what I’ve done.”

Riza didn’t know how to respond, her heart still ached from what he said months ago. Part of her wanted to never see him again, but something told her that she couldn’t separate their lives if she tried. She would just keep running into him again. She leaned into him, pressing her forward into his.

“When you get this,” he broke the silence, moving away from her. He let go of her face, settling his hands on her knee.

“ _If_ I get this,” she cut him off, she rolled her eyes,

“When you get this,” he emphasized again. “You have to give it all you got, Riza. Everything you got.”

She stared back at him. “This is your dream,” he continued, “You can’t give up.”   
In response, she nodded. She wanted to embrace him, she wanted to go _home_. Something in her prevented her from giving in. Her stream of consciousness was broken when he stood up, holding out his hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He smirked and nodded for her to get up. She obliged and took his hand. He pulled her in closer, placing his hand on the small of her back. She gripped his hand as he stretched out his arm. Riza followed his lead.

Roy began to hum softly. He guided their waltz as he had done in this same spot several months ago. She followed his lead, she trusted him. _He knows_ , she thought to herself, _he knows me._ His timing was uncanny, as always.

Roy:

Roy dropped Riza off at Rebecca’s house after their dance at the observatory. Rebecca stood at the doorway; her dark eyes pierced him even from a distance. Her expression was fierce and protective over Riza. Roy waved at her, smiling. She snarled in reply.

“Thank you,” Riza got out of the car. She leaned against the convertible’s side, “Thank you for everything.”

“Anytime,” Roy replied. “Please call me when you find out.”

“Of course,” she smiled shyly, pulling her bag out of the back seat. “I’ll see you later, Roy.”

They shared a long glance before she turned to look away. She looked conflicted. He knew that he didn’t deserve her forgiveness or her love, but his ego prevented him from begging for it. Rebecca’s presence also deterred him from making his love confession on the street. He was certain that Rebecca would remerge with a shotgun to send him off. He watched as she walked towards the house, she looked back and waved at him. He stayed until she disappeared inside.

Roy drove home, wishing that she was coming with him. He didn’t have the courage to offer his bed as a place for her to stay. Riza had made the plans to stay at Rebecca’s before they departed East City that morning, he wasn’t going to interfere. He could picture Rebecca kicking down his door if he did.

To calm his nerves, he played his piano. He put on a record to play along with but he ended up shutting it off. Roy started adlibbing until his hands and heart began to take over. He started playing one of the songs that he composed for her. He felt her presence on the piano bench next to him with every chord progression. There was a feeling of emptiness that filled the room as he finished.

He knew he was a fool to ever think that the neo-jazz music that he played with Havoc’s band could ever fulfill him. He was blinded by his ambition. The band gave Roy a stable income, a limited creative outlet, and recognition that he’d always craved, but it came at the cost of his values. He lost sight of what he really wanted: _to save jazz_. However, Roy realized that his vision had become more complicated. He wanted to save jazz, but he wanted to do it with Riza.

* * *

**ROY**

The morning sun trickled in through the blinds, warmly lighting Roy’s apartment. He sat at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee and going over sheet music. Several days had past since Riza’s audition, but still no call.

He was humming to himself when there was a soft knock on his front door. He put down his pen and made his way to the door. The only person he knew who could get into his apartment complex was Maes, but he wouldn’t knock. “Who is it?” he called, leaning into look through the peep hole.

“It’s me, Riza,” she called from the other side of the door. He peered at her through the peephole, her blonde hair was neatly done and she was carrying a drink tray with a brown paper bag.

“Hey,” he opened the door, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I’m sorry, I should have called,” he gestured to let her into the apartment. He took the brown paper bag from her and set it down on the counter.

“Of course not,” he replied, “You’re welcome here anytime, Riza.”

She set the drink tray down on the table and took out the two cups, “I brought coffee and some breakfast sandwiches from that place by Armstrong’s.” She smiled, offering him a coffee.

“Thank you,” he took the cup from her and started digging in the bag of food. “What brings you here?”

“I have good news,” she replied in a casual tone.

“You got the part!” he put down what he was doing, jumping up in elation.

Riza was smiling and nodding, “I got the call yesterday.”

Roy was more elated than she was. “I’m so proud of you,” he placed his hands on her shoulders. “I knew you would get it.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. Roy pulled her into a hug. Embracing her felt a tidal wave of emotions crashed into him. He was happier for her than he had ever been for someone else, but at the same time, he was sad. She hugged him back, her hands gripping his back.

“Thank you,” she whispered into her chest, “Thank you for believing in me. For tracking me down and dragging me back here.”

“Don’t thank me,” he pulled away, pressing his head to hers. “It was the least I could do.”

Riza stepped away from him, taking her coffee with her to the table. “The early script planning starts in a few weeks,” she started to explain. “After they get the script done, we will begin rehearsals and then start shooting. I can’t believe this is all real.”

Roy brought the breakfast sandwich and coffee with him. “Believe it, baby. You’re going to be a star from this movie.”

“Don’t jinx it, Roy,” she said sternly. He rolled his eyes, taking a bit of the sandwich. “I wanted to tell you last night, but I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Thank you for coming,” he replied. He offered her a bite of the sandwich, she declined silently. “I was starting to think you were finished with me.”

“I can’t get rid of you that easily,” she chuckled to herself. “In all seriousness, I have been torn. I’m still mad at you, but I also still want you.”

Roy’s heart skipped a beat as the words came over him. He didn’t expect her to say the latter part, she expected her to just say “I’m still mad at you” and be done with it. He drank his coffee nervously. “I want you too. I don’t want to lose you.”

She chuckled quietly again, smiling at him. “What’s next for you?”

“I’m quitting the band,” he said firmly. “You were right. I don’t like the music we’re playing. I was blinded by greed and vanity. I forgot what I really wanted.”

“To save jazz,” she finished the sentence for him.

“Yes,” he nodded solemnly. “I also came to the realization that I don’t want a world without you. I want to save jazz, but I want to do it _with you_.”

Riza smiled softly in reply, she paused in her response and drank her coffee slowly. He knew that she was contemplating what he was saying. This was less passionate than what he would have said if he begged for her forgiveness on Rebecca’s doorstep, but at least she was considering his confession.

“Come with me,” she said seriously.

“To Aerugo?”

Riza nodded, “Yes. There’s great jazz there. I did some research; they still have live music café in the big cities. Maybe there’s something you can learn.” She was beaming, brighter than he’d seen her smile in months.

_She’s incredible,_ he thought to himself. _When she gets the part of her dreams, she still thinks of me and my stupid jazz club._ He wanted to leap across the table and kiss her, but he contained himself. “When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this just veers off the film script because this is just a montage in the movie. I like how the scenes turned out. Grumman is way too nice and uninvolved but he's just there to be supportive.


	3. Act III: Epilogue (Five Years Later)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The point of view alternates between them where indicated. Some dialogue is from La La Land (2016) and is not original content.

**RIZA**

The summer sun shined brightly over Central. The film lot was bustling with activity as productions began to wrap for the day. Golf carts fought each other for space on the narrow streets, dodging pedestrians staring at their phones.

“Do you want coffee?” Riza asks her cart approaches the coffee shop she used to work at. “Pull up there, I want to stop in there.”

“Are you sure? I can go in instead,” her assistant protested lightly.

“No, I’m sure. I want to pay them a visit, what do you want?”

“Just a black coffee,” her assistant smiled.

Riza grabbed her purse and fixed her sunglasses. The café was bubbling with activity as everyone who just wrapped eagerly got their afternoon pick me up. It looked the same as when she worked there. They had updated a handful of things on the menu, but it was as expensive as ever.

“Good afternoon, how are you?” she smiled warmly, asking genuinely. She paused to let the barista respond, but the young woman didn’t respond. She didn’t blame her. “Anyways, can I get a black drip coffee and one iced latte?”

“Of course,” the barista smiled. Riza took out cash to pay, but the barista waved in response. “It’s on the house, don’t worry!”

“It’s alright, I insist,” she smiled placing down her cenz on the counter. She saw her former boss peaking out from behind the storeroom door. She dropped an extra five-hundred cenz into the tip jar. “Enjoy your day.”

Riza brought the two coffees out to her assistant. She heard the hushed whispers as she passed by. “Is that her?” they said under hushed breaths. Riza didn’t react to the attention anymore. It used to make her uncomfortable, but now she bears her celebrity through gritted teeth. Her assistant thanked her and drove her to the last meeting of the day.

Central traffic was as awful as usual, cars backed up with the afternoon sun baking their drivers. Riza was eager to get home, eager to finish her day. She took the nearest exit and followed one of her shortcuts to her house in the hills of Central. She parked the car in the driveway next to the freshly waxed vintage convertible.

“I’m home,” she announced as she opened the front door. Her dog came running to the door, jumping up and down with his tail wagging. Riza chuckled as she put down her things and took off her shoes.

“Good afternoon, Black Hayate,” she leaned down to pet the dog. Riza could hear soft piano music coming from the sitting room as she pet Hayate. She smiled warmly.

At the glossy grand piano in the corner of the sitting room sat her husband. He held their daughter in his lap, she balanced gently on his lap as he played one of her favourite songs. “Look at my two-favourite people,” Riza said, coming to sit next to them on the bench. She interrupted his song to kiss them both, taking their daughter from his lap. “How’s mommy’s little girl?”

Riza kissed her daughter’s face all over as her daughter giggled, “Daddy was playing one of his songs.”

“Was he trying to teach you again?” Riza puzzled, half joking. He had been trying to teach their daughter scales since she could sit up on her own. The little girl nodded quickly several times. “Go easy on her, Roy,” Riza teased, letting the little girl down. “She might end up like her mommy, musically challenged.” Their daughter, Maesie, ran off to play.

Roy stood up from the piano bench, pulling Riza in for a hug and a kiss. “How was work today?”

“Good, several meetings with some execs about the screenplay I wrote. There are a couple interested parties at the bigger studios who see my vision,” she continued to hold on to him. She was beaming with excitement.

Roy kissed the top of her forehead. _He always does that when he’s proud of me._ “I know tonight is date night, but I have to run out. I have some urgent business at the club. I will be back before the sitter gets here though, I promise,” he spoke earnestly.

“Alright, but please be on time,” she said as she stepped away, her eyes saying _or else_. Roy kissed her again, getting her message.

“Maesie, where did you go?” Riza called in her playful voice. She didn’t get much time alone with their daughter these days with all the meetings and long days on set. She was jealous of the amount of time Roy got with her. She wanted to savour these moments.

“Be back soon, dear,” Roy called as he stepped out the front door.

* * *

**ROY**

Roy drove to his jazz club near the entertainment district in Central, he pulled his shiny old convertible into his parking spot. He wanted to make the meeting short, he wanted to capitalize on his time with his wife.

“What was the urgent call that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” he said as he walked into the empty club. His crew all paused as he came in, “today was supposed to be my day off with my wife and daughter.”

“Roy, Roy, Roy,” a voice emerged from the shadows near the stage. The man came into the light, it was his old bandmate, Jean Havoc. Roy left the band years ago because the music wasn’t right for him. Jean fought him on it and tried to convince him, but Roy wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Roy embraced Jean as they walked towards each other, “Good to see you, man.”

“What are you doing here?” Roy replied in astonishment.

“Well, since this joint of yours opened up,” Jean pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his inner jacket pocket, “I’ve wanted to play here.”

“That doesn’t really explain why you’re here now,” Roy raised his eye brows.

Jean lit up his cigarette, the place was non-smoking, but Roy let it go. “I worked it out months ago for my current band to play here when our tour dipped through Central again, but apparently no one informed you,” Jean rolled his eyes, taking a drag. “When I got here, I asked where you were. I thought you’d be here to welcome me after all this time, but they said it was your day off. I made kind of a fuss.”

Roy chuckled, patting Jean on the shoulder. “I had no idea it was your band, why didn’t you call me?”

“I did, and you—being you—didn’t fucking pick up,” Jean laughed too. “I wanted you to be here because I wanted you to play at least _one_ song with me for old time’s sake. I understand if you can’t make it though.”

“I’ll try and figure something out.”

Roy wanted to lecture his staff on keeping him up to date with upcoming shows, but he knew that this one was his fault. He told his staff that he would likely be in tonight, giving them ample warning to change anything they would otherwise do. He said goodbye to Havoc and got back on the road.

“I’m back,” Roy announced as he opened the front door, Hayate ran to greet Roy as well. “Hey, buddy,” he kneeled to pet the dog as he slipped off his shoes.

Upbeat music was coming from upstairs and Roy could hear footsteps. He followed the sound to the master bedroom. Riza was in her dressing gown, her hair damp and make up undone. Riza and Maesie were dancing in circles around the bedroom. The two of them laughing and singing along with the music. Riza lit up the whole room.

“Join us, daddy!” Maesie exclaimed as soon as Roy entered the room. He took his daughter’s hand and joined in their fun.

They danced until the song finished and the music stopped. “Sorry to interrupt your girl time,” he said, picking up Maesie.

“It’s alright, you’re back sooner than I expected, really,” Riza went back to getting ready, running her brush through her hair. “Maesie was just helping me get ready for tonight and we took a dance interlude.”   
“You have that little faith in me?” he pretended to sound hurt.

“Put me down,” Maesie demanded.

“Say please first,” Riza scolded, her brow furrowed.

“Please put me down daddy, I want to play,” she asserted herself. Maesie rolled her eyes at her mother’s demand. Roy obliged and put her down, saying nothing to avoid getting scolding from either one.

“Go play until your babysitter gets here,” he urged her to go.

“So, what was the business at the club?” Riza asked now that Maesie disappeared from view.

Roy chuckled, sitting down on the bed. He watched Riza as she continued to get ready. “My old band is playing there tonight,” he sighed, “I don’t want to change our plans, but I would like to stop in at the club for at least a couple songs if that’s okay.”

Riza sighed, putting down her hairbrush. “I didn’t want to see this play anyways, I’ll tell them that something urgent came up,” she said. He didn’t expect this reaction from her. Roy pulled her into a thankful hug, before groping at her backside playfully.

“Now let me finish getting ready,” Riza swatted his hand away. “The sitter will be here in half an hour!”

* * *

**RIZA**

Roy’s jazz club was more packed than usual for a Friday night. The sky was clear enough so you could see the stars. The moonlight lit street where there was a modest line of people still waiting to get into the club. Roy parked at the back in his reserved spot and the snuck in through the rear doors. The club was bustling with people, nearly all the tables were full. Roy had his team reserve a table front and centre for himself and Riza.

“Good luck,” Riza placed a peck on his cheek, rubbing away any lipstick she left behind.

“I’ll come find you after,” he kissed her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear before she left.

Riza found their seats while he consulted with his staff. On stage, the regular guys that Roy hires to play every night were playing some ambient music. No one was really paying close attention, they were all waiting for the show to really begin.

Riza overheard people talking, but she kept hearing compliments about this place. “I’ve been dying to come here,” she heard a woman behind her say. Riza smiled while listening to the woman compliment the club and its dedication to Central jazz history. She wished Roy was there to hear all this, he won’t believe her when she tells him. The regular band concluded playing and the club erupted in pleasant applause.

Up next, Roy’s former bandmates lead by Jean Havoc took the stage. As they set up, Roy takes the mic, “Thank you everyone for coming out. You were just listening our own band, The Alchemists! They’re here every night, if you like how they sound,” Roy caught Riza’s eye and he smiled wider. The audience applauded again. “It is my pleasure to introduce my former bandmates! You’ve got Jean Havoc on lead vocals and guitar, Heymans Breda on bass, Vato Falman on sax, Kain Fuery on drums, and for one night—and one night only—you have me on keys. Thanks for joining us here tonight.”

The crowd applauded as Roy took his seat at the piano bench. Jean looked around at his bandmates and said “One, two, three.” In unison, they began to play something that sounded familiar to Riza. It was one of their old songs, something she hadn’t heard in over five years.

As he played, Roy’s gaze met Riza’s and her mind got lost in thought about where they would be if he had not gone with her to Aerugo. Their love and future together would have died at his kitchen table if he hadn’t followed her. Instead taking a leap of faith and following her, he could have wished her well and gone back to this very band. The band could have been internationally famous, they could have toured across the continent for years before settling down.

Riza pictured her own career if he had said no. She would have spent six months filming in Aerugo, then she would have travelled to Creta, Drachma, and Xing. She would have soaked in various cultures, but it would have been empty without someone to share it with. After that first film’s success, she would get numerous offers for her next role. Riza knew her career would have probably turned out the same, but her life would feel very empty. She would be successful, but she would probably have married James, or someone like him. She would never be as inspired or appreciated as she is by Roy.

Riza is snapped back to reality by the gentle applause as the band finishes playing their first song. She meets Roy’s gaze and they share their thoughts silently. He was thinking the same thing she did: where they would be if the answer had been different. They both knew the answer.

Riza smiled as she kept Roy’s gaze, he smiled back at her. The next song was about to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La La Land AU with alternative happy ending because maximum self indulgence :-) Roy and Riza live happy ever after, dancing, writing, and raising their children at their jazz club. We could have gone the Slavoj Žižek Marxist depressing alternative ending route but everyone wanted a happy ending unlike the original film.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being 100x longer than I anticipated but rewatching La La Land several times kept inspiring me to write scenes and add in new ones. Slight OOC on both Roy and Riza's parts to fit with the story line. 
> 
> This is inspired by Theo (tomochingus) and his La La Land evangelism ♡ This one is dedicated to him.


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